Sensory Overload
by JourneyoftheLost
Summary: He woke up alone and confused. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. He needs to find his way home, but all he can focus on is that foul stench.


**1**

The smell hit him first, pungent and foul, as if a skunk had sprayed a meat packing plant next to a landfill. He was sure that the smell was going to stick to his clothes and hair and even to his skin. It was one of those smells that stayed in nostrils for much longer than any smell should have the right to.

It was making him nauseous and he found himself unable to focus on anything other than the overpowering odor.

He forced himself to focus, to stretch his other senses. It took him longer than it normally would have. He could not suppress the shivers of disgust that raced through his body every few minutes.

He willed himself to calm down and concentrate. It was getting easier to focus on his other senses, but he was too aware of the smell. He knew he would not be able to block it out completely.

He had to focus on one sense at a time. He could do this if he didn't overwhelm himself.

Sound.

He would start with sound. Could he hear anything around him?

Traffic.

It was not very loud, but he could hear the hum of hundreds of cars.

That didn't help him much. He couldn't think of any place where the sound of traffic was not present.

Anything else?

He couldn't make out any other noises, but his head was filling with sounds he could not hear. Voices, music, rustling leaves, insects...it was silent.

He suddenly realized that he could not trust his senses. There was no way it was silent. There had to be some sound, some clue. He needed to figure out where he was.

The smell hit him again, as if an absent wind blew the smell directly into his face.

He forgot all other senses as he racked his brain for the source of the odor.

He came up blank.

What could possibly produce something so foul?

Stop. He was not going to get anywhere by focusing on the smell.

He needed to get a look around. That was the best chance he had.

This should be a simple task. He had done it countless times before. He didn't know why he hadn't thought to try it first.

His eyelids were heavy and he could swear that something was keeping them together.

Maybe it was whatever was producing that smell. He shuddered at the thought of being covered in it. He was already overwhelmed by the smell. The thought of being coated in some sort of goo made him even more nauseous.

 _Stop thinking about that. You're not helping yourself. Open your eyes!_

He forced his eyes open. He couldn't see anything.

He frowned. At this point he was not convinced that his eyes were even open. He tried blinking a couple times. He just needed to get his eyes into focus, then he would be able to see with no problem.

That was what he needed to convince himself. There was a way out of this mess and it was up to him to find it.

He could see light! It was just small circles, but it was something other than dark. He would take it.

Now to get to said light. That was going to be much more difficult than opening his eyes. He couldn't tell how far away those lights were, what they were from, or if he could even get up.

He had no idea where he was. He was so focused on that smell-and there it was again-that he never thought about figuring out where he was.

Was he lying down? Was he on solid ground? Was he stuck in a pit of garbage, discarded animal parts, and skunks? Oh God, he hoped it wasn't anywhere near that last option.

He was getting nowhere. He closed his eyes and pushed all thoughts from his mind. Once his head was clear he focused all his attention on his limbs. As far as he could tell, they were still there. Well, at least there was that.

They felt a little tingly and stiff, but that was probably because it had been an unknown amount of time since they were last used. That was an easy issue to overcome.

He breathed in deep and forced his arms to move. He moved them under him and pushed himself up. _I guess I was lying down._ He groaned at the effort. His arms were wobbly and uncoordinated. He was beginning to wonder if it was from more than disuse.

Drugs?

He supposed it could be possible. He had no idea how he had ended up where he was.

Why?

Why would someone drug him-because he was sure he hadn't drugged himself-and leave him? Many other questions entered his head, none of which he could answer.

He pushed them aside. He would worry about them later.

He managed to get his arms to cooperate long enough to get him on his knees.

Then he was assaulted with a new horrible stench. He didn't think it was possible for something to smell worse than that first smell, but he was wrong. This smell was so much worse.

He lost his stomach. Unfortunately he did not have any food in his stomach to lose. He sat there dry heaving for a few moments until he brought his stomach back under control. He felt tears rolling down his face. He couldn't take much more of this.

He ignored everything around him and somehow got himself to his feet. That was when he realized he wasn't wearing shoes. Of course not.

He moved one foot and the ground under him squished down. It was a disturbing feeling. It was as if he were walking through mud. He was afraid to find out that it wasn't mud. The thought made him nauseous.

He took another step and then another. He kept his mind focused on moving. His legs were as unsteady as his arms had been and he was stumbling more than walking.

He couldn't see anything around him as he moved, but he was sure that anywhere was better than where he was.

He kept walking until his feet met solid ground. It was cold on his feet, cement maybe. That was good. Maybe he was closer to help than he thought.

He kept moving all the while searching for some kind of sign of where he was. His eyes were still not working properly and he was sure that they had closed themselves right after they had been opened.

He stopped suddenly. The surface under his feet had changed. It was rough and rocky. The cement hadn't been kind to his feet, but this was worse. He could hardly put any weight down before dozens of sharp rocks pushed into his feet.

He frowned. He would have to go back and feel around for another way.

This would all be so much easier if he could actually see.

He slowly stepped back, hoping to not inflict any more pain on his feet. He winced when he misjudged his footing and a rock skunk into his foot. Tears filled his eyes.

This was just not his day.

He gathered up his quickly diminishing will and took another step. He sighed in relief when his feet felt the familiar texture of cement.

He stopped again. He didn't know where to go. The confusion and frustration was overwhelming him. He just wanted to curl up somewhere and let someone else do all the work.

He wondered for the first time if someone was looking for him. He hoped so. That would make this a tiny bit easier. Maybe they could meet him halfway, or better yet, right here. That would be perfect.

He shook his head and forced himself to move. If he wanted this to end, then he was going to have to do it himself.

Lights began to get brighter and noises louder as he walked. He was getting closer. He still had no idea to what, but anything was better than the silent darkness he had been in.

He felt like he had been walking for years when he noticed something in front of him. It was taller than him and it was isolated; it seemed so out of place. _It's not the only thing._

It took him a moment to realize what he was standing in front of. Even his confused and muddled mind knew how odd this was.

A payphone.

Probably one of three left anywhere. He wondered if it even worked.

Only one way to find out. He picked up the receiver and placed it next to his ear.

A dial tone!

He couldn't believe it. The only stroke of luck he had had all night.

Then he remembered why it was called a payphone.

He resisted the urge to bang his head.

In his situation, he doubted he had any change on him. How much did a payphone cost anyway?  
He tried the only thing he could think of. He slowly reached up and punched in 911. It began to ring. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"911, what's your emergency?" the voice was male and kind. He suddenly wasn't sure if he could speak. "Are you there? This number is for emergencies only. If you do not have an emergency please hang up."

"Sheriff," his voice was scratchy and almost inaudible, but he forced the word out.

"Sir, what is your emergency?"

"Sheriff."

"Sir, are you injured?"

"Sheriff," there was silence on the other side of the line. A moment later a new voice came on.

"This is Sheriff Stilinski."

"Dad."


End file.
